Animal Angel (3 page)

Mavis squatted down next to the dog. “Dulce… we're calling her Dulce.”

“Dulce is an unusual name,” Weston said, meeting her eyes. His head tilted slightly to the right, and he was lost in her gaze. Her eyes were the color of an evergreen forest, and he hadn't noticed the gold flecks surrounding her pupil before.

“It means sweet.”

Dulce came from behind Mavis and stretched out her nose as far as she could without moving closer to Weston. She trembled and whimpered, leaning back on her hind legs. He raised his hand above Dulce's head. Mavis stopped him.

“Let her come to you. Keep your hands low. Above the head can be interpreted as a threatening act, and she has trust issues.”

Weston nodded and lowered his hand to the height of Dulce's chin. She got a good sniff and moved her legs forward to catch up with her nose. He scratched under her chin before she retreated to her hiding spot behind Mavis. Weston slowly pushed to his feet.

“That's the funny thing about dogs. They're always willing to give you a second and third chance.” The muscles in her face tightened, and she seemed unable to hide the bitterness in her voice.

Weston put his hands up. “Truce… okay?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Detective Speier, what are you doing here?”

“Please call me Weston.” He was struggling to salvage a civil conversation out of this meeting. He didn't know why, but he wanted her to like him — or at least soften toward him. “I just wanted to say hello and see how Dulce was doing.”

Mavis crossed her arms in front of her, leaning her upper body away from him. “She is fine, now. She gets spayed today. The vet checked her over this afternoon, and besides the infection in the wound around her neck, she's in good shape… considering. They guess she's around one-and-a-half, so she has a lot of life left. Anything else?” Her voice carried an edge sharp enough to slice paper.

Weston met her icy glare, but, underneath all that anger, he thought he sensed anguish there. He wondered if that had something to do with her unpleasant attitude. Either way, he was remembering why he hadn't initially liked her.
I'm ready to throw in the towel on this endeavor.
He had swallowed his pride to come over here and make nice, and she wasn't willing to meet him a quarter of the way. His temper was beginning to unravel.

“Well?” she asked, jutting out her chin. Her forehead crinkled under the pressure generated from her raised eyebrows.

“You are a piece of work,” he said, unable to be the bigger person. “All I did was come out here to say hello, and you have been nothing but discourteous.”

“Well, I'm sorry I don't swoon at your feet like all the others, but frankly, I just don't have the time to bolster your ego.”

“Fine, princess — have it your way.” He jammed his finger in her direction. “I have no time for a bitter—” He caught himself, and not wanting to insult the dogs, swallowed the word and continued. “—female, who wants to spend more time finding reasons to hate life than being open to enjoying it. You're as mean-spirited a person as I've come across in a long time — and I see a lot of scum. But you can count on one thing — I will do everything in my power to never encounter the likes of you again.” His lips pressed together in a firm line. He was upset that he'd let her push his buttons and fuel his ranting. His hands curled into fists, and his fingernails cut into his palms.

“Suits me fine,” she said as she put her hands on her hips and leaned in, emphasizing each word. “Glad you finally took the hint. I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to hit you with a two by four.”

Giving up, he turned and strode for the door. He yanked open the door and stopped, glaring back at her. “You know what's funny, Mavis? You criticized me for judging Dulce for what she appeared to be on the outside — and you're doing the exact same thing to me.” With that, he left.

He slammed the swinging door to the lobby open and stormed through, eyes locked on the front door. His escape.

“Detective… Detective…” Stella called. Weston stopped and glanced over at her. “The paperwork you came in for.” She held the form in the air.

He sighed, drained from his war of words with Mavis. “Yeah… sure.” His shoulders slumped, and his stride slowed as he walked over to the counter.

“Just sign here about the owner surrender, and I will make you a copy for your report,” she said, tapping her finger on the X.

He pulled a pen from an Animal Angels Rescue mug on the counter and scribbled his name.

She turned to the copier on the wall behind her and placed the paper in the feed tray. “Not a warm reception?” she asked over the loud hum of the machine. She kept her focus on the task at hand. He made a
harrumph
sound, and she laughed.

“Is she always like that?”

“Not with people who managed to break through her coat of armor. It's just her defensive mechanism to keep everyone at arm's length.” She shrugged as she pulled the copy off and handed it to him.

“Why does she want to do that?” He folded up the paper and put it in his jacket pocket. He couldn't deny he'd wanted to know more about her, but now he wasn't sure he cared.

“That's not my story to tell, but for a young girl, she's had a difficult life.”

“A lot of people have tough times but don't act like that,” he said as he made for the door. He pushed open the door and paused.

“Detective, try not to give up on her.” Stella leveled her eyes in his direction, almost pleading.

“Too late for that.” He closed the door without looking back.

A week passed, and Mavis didn't have any additional encounters with Weston. That should have pleased her, but instead, remorse poked at her. She didn't like it. Thoughts of him kept creeping into her mind. In a weak moment, she even dialed the police station intending to apologize, but hung up before anyone answered. She didn't want to open the door she had so vehemently slammed shut on any chance of a connection with him. Deep down she was attracted to him, and that made him dangerous. She had nothing to offer him.
No.
She'd decided long ago she had to be alone, and she was. She was downright lonely.
This is how it has to be.

A tear hung on the lashes in the outside corner of her eye. If she was honest with herself, her severe reaction to him was pure self-preservation. She'd built a safe room around herself and wasn't going to let anyone in. It only brings pain when you start caring about someone and then you lose them, and in her mind you always lose them.

“He got to you,” Stella said, leaning on the reception desk, and Mavis jumped in her chair, covering her heart with her hand as it lurched in her chest. The sun was setting, and the building had cleared out of prospective adopters. Mavis enjoyed the time right after closing, when the place took on a tranquil energy. Even the animals had settled for the night.

“Land sakes, woman, I didn't see you there,” she said, taking a slow, deep breath.

“That's obvious. You were long gone.”

“Who got to me?” Mavis asked, flipping another page of her celebrity news magazine.

“Uh-huh. If that's how you want to play this, fine. It's your bed — you lie in it,” Stella said. She walked to the open timber staircase in the center of the lobby. Her hand rested on the whimsical woodland railing. “I'm going to my office to grab my purse, and I'm heading home to someone who actually listens to my advice.

“Hey, Stella,” Mavis called after her. “Before you go home to bestow all your worldly advice on George, I have a favor to ask.”

Stella stopped halfway up the stairs to look back at her.

Mavis's hands moved into prayer pose. She fluttered her lashes. “Can you come in a bit early tomorrow? Pretty please.”

“What's up?” Stella asked.

“I talked to the vet about Lucy's condition.” Lucy was a bloodhound that had developed a raging infection after being shot by a BB gun and dumped on their property a few days earlier. As of that morning, her temperature had spiked, and she was no longer eating or drinking, causing her to become dehydrated and weak. “Because of the decline in her condition, I'm staying here tonight to take care of her. I've got her on I.V. fluids and a huge dose of antibiotics — if she doesn't turn soon, I'm just not confident she's going to make it. If something happens, I don't want her alone.”

“Not a problem. I planned to offer and stay myself, but I'll do tomorrow night if it's needed.”

“Perfect. If I don't see you before you go, have a good evening,” she said, looking back to her magazine again. After reading the same paragraph for the fifth time, she gave up. She dropped her head into her hands and slid them over the top of her head, coming to rest on her neck. Stella's words were screaming in her mind.

“Stop it,” she said to no one.
This is ridiculous letting her get to me.
She shook her head to rid the echo of Stella's voice.

Pushing her chair back, she jumped up and went to do her last check of the animals before she settled in with Lucy for the evening. She didn't have the time to waste letting Stella get under her skin. Even if she was right.

****

Stella arrived promptly at six o'clock the next morning. “Already up I see.”

“I don't think I slept much. I used that cot.” Mavis pointed to the army green canvas cot she'd already folded up and stuck in the corner of the exam room. She'd bought the portable bed at the military surplus store in town, and it looked and felt like something from the Civil War era. “And Lucy and I slept in the exam room. If that miserable cot didn't keep me up, I had an alarm set for every hour to check on Lucy, or to change fluids when needed.” Mavis twisted her upper body side-to-side, still failing to release the muscle spasms racking her back. She released her upper body into standing forward bend. She groaned and shifted her head to glare in the cot's direction. Rolling back up one vertebra at a time, she then arched her back, and a loud pop sounded. “That's better.”

“How is Lucy?”

“I don't know.” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Maybe a little better. She ate some food for me this morning and drank some water. Time will tell, and the vet will stop by later.”

“Why don't you head home for a couple hours' sleep?”

“I think I will,” Mavis said, covering her yawn with her hand. “Call me if you need anything.”

****

Mavis always hiked the path through the woods back to the trailer she called home. She didn't advertise that she lived on the other side of the property. She liked living close enough that she could do her evening check on the animals, but far enough away that it gave her some needed privacy.

There was a beautiful farmhouse on the north side of the ten-acre property she wanted to restore but didn't have the money for yet. She was doing what she could on her own, but things were moving slower than she'd hoped. When she finished, it would be everything she wanted in a home… well, almost. Everything, minus a family of her own to share it with.

She'd used most of her parents' estate to restore and convert the nineteenth century prairie barn into an animal rescue with Stella. The barn wood gave it the appearance of a building that had stood over a hundred years ago, as did the undressed wooden shingles. It had a gambrel roof, which allowed enough room upstairs for two personal office spaces. In what was now the reception area, the hand-hewn beams were exposed, providing a phenomenal effect. Getting the rescue up and running had been her first priority, and she was pleased with the choices she'd made. The rescue gave her a reason to get up each morning and not dwell on life's curve ball she'd been thrown.

The morning was spectacular. She tilted her chin skyward to absorb the heat from the sun's rays. The sun shone bright and warm, releasing shades of pink and orange across the vast sky, announcing the beginning of a new day. The dewy grass dampened her shoes with each squishy step. She listened as the birds sang a tune only they understood, reminding her why she loved this piece of property. She could be close, but far enough away, and screened with plenty of timber, that she couldn't see the rescue from her home. Clearing the woods and walking into the grassy meadow she called her yard, she felt a sense of calmness no yoga class could give her. Taking a cleansing breath in, she inhaled the sweet morning air deep into her lungs.

A chill rushed through her body. She slowed her stride, her eyes darting around the area encompassing her trailer. That instinct most people have that said run… hide… duck. That gut feeling even experts were hard-pressed to explain, yet people learned to trust, was screaming at her.
What's different?
She turned in a complete circle, studying her surroundings.
Like someone is going to jump out of the woods at me with a machete.
A nervous laugh escaped her.
I'm tired. I'm jumping at shadows.
Her fingertips massaged the back of her neck and she started forward again
.

She shook her head at herself, acting all paranoid for no reason.
No more late night horror movies for me.
Approaching her trailer, her footsteps faltered and then ceased. She looked on, wide-eyed. A wave of nausea rolled in her gut. The door stood open… She'd locked it, right? She always remembered to lock up. Too OCD not to, and even then had to check it four times. Her pulse roared in her ears. She was unable to swallow around the lump in her throat.

Staying about twenty-feet away, she moved to where she could see inside. The lump plunged into her stomach. She shuffled forward, each step feeling like sandbags were tied around her ankles, mouth slack. Grasping the doorframe with her trembling hand, she stepped inside.

The trailer was eighteen-by-ninety feet, but a straight line from one side to the other. The layout was the same as most trailers: bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living area, and some storage on the other end. It was simple, but clean, or at least it had been.

Mavis surveyed the damage. She studied her torn mattress and the stuffing that had migrated out of the bedroom and across the floor. Drawers pulled from their compartments and the contents dumped out. Right offhand, she could see that her laptop, television, and high definition video player were missing. Her love seat had been flipped over and now rested on top of a broken lamp, and they'd left her refrigerator standing open after smashing eggs on the counter.

“Great. Just great,” she said, pressing on the vein throbbing in her temple. Running her hands through her hair, she took a deep breath only to gag, overtaken by the pungent, sour odor of spoiled food. Tears of frustration slid down her cheeks. “No!”

She slammed her open palm against the wall; glass from a picture frame shattered, slicing her hand and falling to the floor. Mavis kicked the door; it crashed against the trailer. She grabbed an unbroken vase from the end table to the right of the entryway.

Mavis raised it overhead when suddenly she froze, chest heaving. Her reflection in the window on the opposite wall stared back at her. She blinked and set the vase back where she got it, wiping the sweat from her upper lip. Droplets of blood fell on her shoes, and she flipped her hand over, studying the small gash. She picked up a dishtowel from the middle of the living room floor and wrapped it around her hand. A tremor raced through her body, and her legs quaked like wet noodles. The pounding of her heartbeat in her ears grew softer, and her breathing slowed. She blinked and wiped away the tears from her cheeks. “I need to call the police.” Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears. She backed out of the trailer to call nine-one-one.